


Ice Cream; Ice, Cream..

by IAmNotGoodatthisnamingthing



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Cutesy, Mentions of blood but nothing graphic, Prompt Fic, angsty, two fics for one prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 15:04:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17624648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmNotGoodatthisnamingthing/pseuds/IAmNotGoodatthisnamingthing
Summary: Jenchallenged me with writing XiuChen and the prompt 'Ice Cream'What resulted from that are two separate fics.Fic 1 has Minseok playing detective trying to solve the crime of a dubious ice cream stain on the dorm couch.Fic 2a side-piece/excerpt of a long-fic I'll probably never writesees Xiumin and Jongdae talk to each other in the wake of a fight and realize a few things...





	1. Matcha made in heaven

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JenZz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenZz/gifts).



It’s not often that they get free time, but when they do, Minseok likes to go around travelling and hang out with his friends, often playing football. He’s just returned back to the dorm from one such game when he senses ~~a disturbance in the force~~ something wrong.

Narrowing his eyes and following his instincts, Minseok walks into the living room instead of hitting the showers immediately. And there he finds…

...an ice cream stain on their sofa!

Matcha ice cream, more specifically, if his eyes don’t deceive him.

A matcha ice cream stain from not too long ago, if the smell is to be trusted. But who is the culprit who would soil their sofa and leave without cleaning up?

Minseok’s first suspects are his dorm mates. Kyungsoo would never have left the stain unwashed. In fact, Kyungsoo was more likely to wash it already and leave a note nearby, warning others to not sit in the damp spot. Baekhyun and Jongdae were on a chicken breast and green vegetables only diet, so it could not have been them either. That left Minseok suspect-less, so he spread his net of suspicion a bit wider, to cover all their other members too.

Yixing, the one member who obsessed over matcha, hadn’t been in the dorm in ages, so it was safe to assume Yixing was blameless. Chanyeol had sneaked out of the country for a mini vacation, so it could not have been him either. And no matter how bratty Sehun could be, he was the most prim eater out of them all, so it possibly couldn't be him.

That narrowed down the list considerably...

After deliberating for a good minute whether he wanted to hit the shower and clean up the stain first, or confront his prime suspects, Minseok decided his personal hygiene mattered more than lecturing his bandmates.

When he walks into the upstairs dorm (without knocking, of course), he finds Jongin lounging on the carpet, giggling at the latest episode of Return of Superman. Smiling fondly, Minseok walks closer and narrows his eyes when he finds Jongin surrounded by containers of noodles and chicken wings with an uncapped bottle of soda cooling near his feet.

“You’re gonna spill something on the carpet if you don’t clean up,” Minseok sighs, perfunctorily leaning down to begin clean up.

“Hyung, you scared me!” intones Jongin, sitting up immediately and helping Minseok. “And don’t worry about spilling food, I put all the food and drink things on a sheet of plastic to contain the damage, see?”

Indeed, there was a flimsy layer of plastic on the floor, acting as a makeshift tablecloth.

“Good thinking, Nini,” Minseok commends, feeling adoration bloom in his chest when Jongin beams happily. “But I was just wondering, have you been eating matcha ice cream in our dorm lately?”

“I haven’t had desserts in ages,” whines Jongin, before scrunching up his nose. “And if I wanted ice cream, I would rather have ten different flavours before I’d choose matcha.”

Point. Jongin had a marked distaste for matcha desserts outside of Japan, and was more inclined towards fruity desserts.

“Why do you ask, hyung?” Jongin asks from the sink, where he’s now washing his hands.

“No reason,” Minseok shrugs, quickly changing the topic to the upcoming nuptials of one of their common friends. When he’s done chatting with Jongin, a good half an hour later, Minseok trudges towards Junmyeon’s room, where - as per Jongin’s intel - their leader is busy practicing gag jokes for an upcoming variety show.

Minseok knocks once before Junmyeon asks him to enter, and inside he finds Junmyeon sitting on his bed in a rumpled mess of blankets and pillows, studying something on his laptop and taking diligent notes.

Looking around the room, Minseok feels a part of his soul die. There’s clothes strewn all over the floor, half eaten fruits and bowls of ramyeon adorning the bed-side table, and Minseok’s hands twitch to just tidy up the place.

“What’s happening, buddy?” Junmyeon asks in a way he definitely thinks is hip with the kids these days. _Spoiler alert: it’s not_.

“Did you have matcha ice cream recently?” Minseok asks, swallowing down his offer of tidying up the leader’s room. (The members had a team meeting recently, where they had decided to let Junmyeon live in his metaphorical sewer of a room until he was forced to clean on his own).

“No,” Junmyeon frowns. “Do you want me to get you some? I know this place that can deliver within 30 minutes?”

“Nope, never mind,” Minseok quickly shakes his head. “Just making small talk. Keep working on your jokes!”

And with that he all but leaps out of the room, banging the door shut and breathing in a lungful of cleaner air.

Wondering whether he’d calculated wrong, Minseok dejectedly retreats back to his dorm floor, where he finds…

“You,” Minseok accuses, coming to a standstill at the doorway of the kitchen area. “You dropped ice cream on our couch!”

“I did?” Jongdae asks, licking clean his last spoonful of yet another bowl of matcha ice cream. (Vaguely, Minseok remembers something about today being the cheat day of Jongdae's diet).

Minseok nods seriously, never even having considered that Jongdae could have commited the heinous crime.

“Oops,” Jongdae replied guiltily, cleaning his bowl at the sink. “Want me to clean up?”

“I already did,” Minseok informs him. “Make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“You’re the best, hyung,” Jongdae says fondly, coming to stand in front of Minseok. Before Minseok can say anything though, Jongdae leans forward and plants a noisy kiss on Minseok’s cheek before patting his shoulder and walking away, humming a cheerful tune beneath his breath.

Minseok stands rooted to the spot, feeling a blush wash over his face, and distinctly feeling the sticky imprint of Jongdae’s matcha ice cream kiss on his cheekbone, and Minseok realizes...

...he doesn’t really mind matcha stains anymore.


	2. Iced, and wrapped in Cream

Xiumin had never been much of a fighter. 

He was a warrior, one of the finest in the Capital, but he hated fighting. Especially meaningless fights that were not even his to begin with.

As an initiated member of the Purple Legion, Xiumin was done with having to fight in The Pit. He’d grown up in The Pit somewhat, watching, wagering, coaching and participating in fights. (Most of the Purple and Azure and Scarlet legioners had the same upbringing. )

Although skilled in various weaponry, Xiumin’s forte was physical brawling, and when he’d taken Mark under his wing, it was hand-to-hand combat that he’d begun training the young boy with.

(It was his hand-to-hand training reflexes that had Mark caught up in the middle of a fight with another Legion, and then challenged to a fight to death. And not about to lose his protege to a meaningless fight, Xiumin had volunteered to take Mark’s place, and step foot in The Pit once again. Learning of that, a Scarlet had stepped up to be his opponent.)

A solid crowd had gathered, to watch two of the best warriors of the Capital square off, hundreds upon hundreds lured in by the prospect of a fight to death.

In the end, the fight had been quick and merciless. Xiumin had attacked and attacked till his opponent was left weaponless, and then he had ensured a quick, painless end for the Scarlet, murmuring the Worde of the Praetorie under his breath.

Xiumin had then bowed to the audience, at the gathered royals and nobles and legioners and commoners alike, the choked-off gargling sound of the Scarlet still ringing in his ears. And then he had come down to the basement, to get rid of his armour and weapons. Changmin, his faction leader, and Leo, his fellow legioner, were standing guard in front of a armoury, the same impassive look on both their faces. Xiumin shoves his armour and weapon at the duo, asking for a few minutes of privacy and Changmin squeezes his shoulder before closing the door after Xiumin.

Only when he’s alone does Xiumin realize that his hand is trembling. Bringing it up to his eye level, Xiumin finds that not only is his hand trembling, but it is also bloodied. When did that happen, he wonders with a furrowed frown.

“You probably didn’t notice the Scarlet slashing at your bicep,” a  voice speaks from the dark.  _ Not just any voice _ . “My best guess is he was trying to hack off your hand.”

“My prince,” Xiumin breathed in, eyes scanning the darkened room before finally finding the nobleman lounging on a bench in the corner. “Why are you here?”

“Why do you think?” the nobleman asks darkly, getting up and sauntering towards Xiumin. “That was stupid, soldier.”

Xiumin shrugs, trying to be nonchalant, but unable to meet the blazing gaze of the other man.

The prince - a lower prince, but a nobleman by birth nonetheless - sighs before asking for his hands.

“Why?” Xiumin asks dumbly.

“So I can finish off the Scarlet’s last wish, you idiot!” the prince sasses. Xiumin offers his trembling hands into the clasp of the prince’s hand, who sighs at the sight of his bloodied knuckles and multitude of bruises before tugging Xiumin to a nearby table.

As the prince fusses over cleaning his hurts and pressing ice and salve to his bruises, Minseok studies the lines of his cheekbones, the softness of his unblemished hands, the hem of his embroidered hanbok.

“It was really foolish of you, Minseok,” the prince chastises. “You’ve caused the Scarlets one of their prized warriors, and Prince Kwon isn’t the most merciful of men.”

“I couldn’t let Mark walk into The Pit,” Xiumin says just as softly, not bothering to correct the prince’s use of his former name. 

He’d been Minseok once, a soldier-in-training and a playmate of the youngest Prince Kim, whose father had insisted on the prince attending and wagering on Pit fights from a tender age. He was to grow up and become a consul, after all. (Minseok had been the prince’s hand to grip during fights and the voice of advice in his ear when the bookies had made their rounds. For that and more, the prince could not be faulted for using Xiumin’s former name).   

The prince - Jongdae to his fellow patricians and some select members of the Purple legion, the faction bearing his family’s crest -  sighs once again, using the salt-dry bandages to bind Xiumin’s wrist.

“Is he precious to you, the boy?” Jongdae inquires.

Xiumin nods. “Mark is...eager to learn, quick of foot, and yet naive to the way of our world,” Xiumin smiles. “It was his sense of justice that led to...this.”

Jongdae hums, looping the cream-colored bandage around Xiumin’s hands.

“I have ordered that the boy be removed from the barracks,” Jongdae shares, once he’s happy with the bandage. Immediately Xiumin’s eyes fly up and he opens his mouth to throw a barrage of questions at Jongdae.

Removal from the barracks could mean anything from being thrown into the streets to being appointed as stablehand for the Kim armoury to even being gifted to the Kwon household as compensation. 

“He’ll be travelling to the summer palace within the next fortnight, to train for service as an errand boy for Princess Sunyoung,” Jongdae informs him.

Xiumin shuts his mouth again and lowers his eyes to the table, resolutely not focusing on the comforting warmth of Jongdae’s hands still circling his wrists. An errand boy...though not the most honourable of occupations, would keep Mark out of the line of fire. And for that, and more, Xiumin was once again in Jongdae’s debt.

“I am indebted to you, my Prince,” Xiumin intones, steeling himself to meet Jongdae’s soft gaze. Jongdae’s gaze hardens imperceptibly, the lines of his face becoming more taut. He lets go of Xiumin’s hands immediately and stands up, turning to leave.

“I didn’t do it out of a sense of entitlement, soldier. We have been friends for a long time, or at least I thought we were close friends,” Jongdae sighs, running a hand through his back-brushed hair before seemingly coming to a decision. 

“Good job on winning your fight, soldier,” Jongdae continues detachedly, turning to face Xiumin again. “Do remember to ice your ankle, which I’m sure you haven’t yet noticed that you’ve twisted, and send a formal token of remorse to the Scarlet’s faction.” 

With that Jongdae turns to leave, knocking on the armoury door to get Changmin to let him out, only catching the whisper of Xiumin’s ‘thank you for everything, Dae. I’m really sorry’ floating on the wind. Xiumin stares at his cream bandages in deep thought, not even looking up as Jongdae takes his leave from Changmin.  _ So be it... _

Jongdae doesn’t look back, doesn’t acknowledge Xiumin as he’s shadowed out of the basement by Leo, heart still coming to terms of the divide that exists between once-friends, now just a patrician and his soldier.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I'd love to know what you think ^_^


End file.
